


First Name Basis

by Mecha_Maid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27572905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mecha_Maid/pseuds/Mecha_Maid
Summary: Oh, so we're on a first name basis now..?Amélie purred only in her head, no matter how badly she wanted to say it aloud to the good doctor.
Relationships: Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	1. Widow

**Author's Note:**

> So hey, this is a work that's a couple years old that I've posted on here before. I deleted it a while back because I was embarrassed by it I think? But for nostalgia's sake and to just kinda store it somewhere, I'm posting it again. I probably won't be adding anymore to it so this is all it's gonna be, like 9 chapters I think? I lost some of them, but I'm posting everything I have in my files on here. Enjoy, and if you're a returning reader, thanks for coming back!

The ticking of the clock was a droning disturbance filling Amélie's ears, interrupted only by the rustling of paper from her book each time she turned the page or her own occasional disparaging sigh.

She was bored out of her mind, quite frankly, and not even this trashy French romance novel she had decided to bring along with her could remedy that.

_ Where was he? _

Exhaling impatiently through her nose, Amélie lifted her amber eyes from the contents of her reading material to the far wall where the vintage analog clock continued to click.

It had scarcely been five minutes since the last time she checked.

Sighing again, she returned her attention to her lap, shifting in the cushioned chair that she had settled herself in. This book was truly dreadful.

She missed Paris. She missed her ballet company, the routines, her fellow dancers, the spotlight.

She missed Gérard. She had not seen her husband in three entire months, and of course, now that she was here, at the very headquarters of his organization, he _still_ kept her waiting.

_ Overwatch, Overwatch, Overwatch. _ It was always Overwatch with him. He spent more time with his work that his own damn wife.

Amélie was tired of playing second fiddle to Overwatch, but.. Gérard had always dreamed of being a hero, and how she could deny him that? He gushed over the work he was doing, the _good_ Overwatch was doing to the world, and she just did not have it in her heart to burst his bubble no matter how bitter she was.

She was lonely though. She was lonely back home all the time, laying in their bed all by herself while he was off fighting terrorist organizations and risking his life.

She was lonely right now, in fact.

Grimacing, the French woman used her index finger to scratch at the corner of her mouth, lifting her eyes from the page that she had been staring at blankly for the past minute.

The lounge was completely empty, it was just her, her terrible romance novel, various kitchen appliances, and other furniture. The headquarters of Overwatch was surprisingly vacant, but perhaps she had just decided to visit for the first time on the worst possible day, while _everyone_ was out saving the world.

She had only met one genuine Overwatch member so far, the girl that had led her through the building's labyrinth of hallways and rooms to this very lounge.

Cadet Oxton had been a sweet girl with an absolutely adorable but slightly annoying cockney accent, and Amélie kind of missed her right now. She would rather be fighting to get a word in with the peppy Brit than dying of boredom with nothing but this atrocious romance novel to occupy her time. But of course, the girl had actual duties to attend to. Overwatch called, and she answered, leaving Amélie to herself to wait for Gérard's return.

Amélie was tired of waiting, and she was starting to wish that she had not come at all. She should have made Gérard come to _her_ , back to Paris, instead of traveling all the way out to Switzerland to see him.

Exhaling angrily through her teeth, Amélie, propped her elbow onto the arm rest of her chair and used the tip of her index finger to massage at her temple. She was tired of.. _this_. Whatever their relationship was anymore...

Suddenly, Amélie took notice of the little dark splotch that was on the wall to her right.

That had not been there before. _What was that?_

Squinting, the French woman leaned forward a bit to better make out whatever the dot was.

It was a spider, a tangle of long hairy legs attached to a fuzzy middle, its bunch of beady eyes piercing into her from where she sat.

_ When I was a girl, I had a fear of spiders... _

Immediately, Amélie shot out of her seat, the novel slipping off her legs and banging loudly onto the hardwood floor beneath her. Manicured nails dug into the upholstery of the chair, and every inch of her went rigid as she looked wide-eyed at the arachnid.

She had always been afraid of spiders. She was _still_ afraid of spiders, and of course there was one here, _now_. Could her day possibly be going any worse?

She breathed in sharply when the little devil started moving, tracking it as it crawled down the wall and toward the floor. When it touched the hardwood, she hissed out a single: " _Merde_."

She was going to kill that little bastard.

Amélie bent down to grab the fallen romance novel, and clutching it in her now sweaty palms, she tensed up as the spider came nearer. When it was about two feet away from her, she lunged, slamming the book down onto the floor and producing a harsh _crack_. But she missed, and the little asshole scurried out of reach.

" _Come back here!_ " Amélie barked at it in French, her heels clicking hastily across the wooden floor as she pursued it.

The spider disappeared beneath an end table next to the only couch in the lounge, but her stomping scared it into shooting out from underneath it and onto the linoleum of the kitchen area.

Along the way in her pursuit of it, Amélie's hip caught the end of that end table, and she flinched when pain blossomed in the area and an ear-splitting shattering sound soon followed. Glancing worriedly over her shoulder, Amélie cradled her side with one of her palms and growled to herself when she saw what she had done.

A half-drunken mug of coffee had been on the table, and she had knocked it off, covering the hardwood with scattered pieces of white ceramic and day-old drink.

Air hissing past her teeth, Amélie stabbed the spider with a frosty glare from where it was, in front of the sink in the kitchen area.

" _Oh, you're dead!_ " She threatened it in French, securing the novel in both of her hands.

The spider tried scurrying away when she neared, but she had finally cornered it, and the French woman viciously threw her book down onto the arachnid.

Satisfied that it had not escaped this time, Amélie paused for a moment to revel in her victory, on her knees with her two palms pressed firmly into the back of the novel. She was even considering a triumphant chuckle to celebrate her success, when the door to the lounge exploded open.

Amélie's head snapped in the direction of the disturbance.

In the doorway was a disheveled-looking, but undeniably pretty blonde woman. She was wearing a white lab coat over her light grey turtleneck sweater, her pale hair put up in a messy ponytail, and her eyes wide as they swept around the room, before landing on Amélie.

With those stunning blue eyes upon her, Amélie began to feel heat rising in her cheeks. She must look like quite the fool, hunched over on the floor with a squashed spider underneath her trashy book, and what if.. what if the woman had heard what she was saying? She must think Amélie was insane, screaming at a spider and breaking things trying to kill it.

Regardless, the French woman attempted to salvage her dignity by straightening her back and elegantly pulling herself to her full height, holding the unfamiliar woman's questioning gaze the entire time.

_ This is mortifying! _ Amélie screamed inwardly, pressing her lips into a tight line while she awaited whatever question the blonde woman surely had for her.

"Uhm.." The blonde began softly, lowering her hands from their places on either side of the doorway she stood in. Her confused expression melted into a gentle smile, a smile that made Amélie's stomach flutter. "I heard yelling and a crash. Are you.. okay...?"

This woman's disposition was so.. calming. Amélie felt like she could confess anything and everything to this stranger right here and now.

Her perplexity no doubt all over her expression, Amélie let her eyes roam from the blonde woman's face to the rest of her.

Her attention was instantly caught by the name tag on the other woman's chest. It read "Dr. Ziegler", and the name clicked something within Amélie's brain.

_ The _ Doctor Angela Ziegler. Overwatch's head surgeon, resident miracle worker, and medical genius. Gérard had told her much of Dr. Ziegler, and here Amélie had finally met her... after chasing down a stupid little spider and destroying someone's property in the process.

_ This is certainly a stellar first impression... _

Amélie sighed jadedly, and it earned her an endearingly concerned look from Dr. Ziegler.

The French woman's gaze fell to her feet, where the romance novel lay on the floor, then she glanced guiltily at the broken mug on the hardwood and the puddle of coffee it rested in.

"I.. am terribly sorry. I had a bit of an... _accident_ trying to kill a spider." She explained in heavily accented English, using one of her hands to gesture to the ruined coffee mug.

Feeling as if her face were on fire, Amélie left the kitchen area and approached the doctor, holding the blonde woman's eyes along the way. She was starting to feel rather lightheaded at the gentleness and kindness that practically radiated off of this woman.

That lightness drained from her head and into her heart at the soft laugh that Dr. Ziegler responded with, and with those blue eyes sparkling due to her smile, Amélie couldn't help but grin back at the other woman.

"You were making that much of a fuss over a spider?" The doctor asked breathlessly, holding one of her hands over her heart.

Her humiliation had all but evaporated, but Amélie could not explain the dizziness she was experiencing at the moment. She.. she had not felt this way in some time, not since she had first crossed paths with Gérard, she realized.

Chuckling nervously, Amélie forced herself to break eye contact with Dr. Ziegler to peer down at her own hands while she wrung them. "It was a very big spider..."

"Understandable." The doctor replied cheerily, and Amélie lifted her downcast gaze. Dr. Ziegler's lovely face was practically glowing with mirth. "More importantly.. you are Amélie Lacroix, are you not? Gérard's wife?"

At the mention of Gérard, Amélie felt her forthcoming expression sour, but as quickly as it changed, she smoothed her features out.

Is that all she was, just Gérard's wife?

"Ah, yes," She replied, overpowering her instinct to swoop in with a French greeting, and extending her open hand to the doctor. Dr. Ziegler accepted the gesture, and Amélie noted the surprising roughness of the other woman's palm before continuing.

"It is a pleasure, Doctor Ziegler. Gérard has told me much of you." As they shook hands, Amélie watched the blonde woman purse her lips.

"Only good things, I hope?" Dr. Ziegler asked after they had let go of each other, one of her brows quirking.

She sounded almost worried about that fact, and Amélie had to stop herself from bursting into laughter. She never would have thought that she could associate this "medical genius" with the word _cute_ , but.. here she was.

"Overwatch's angel.." Amélie drawled teasingly in reply, and she was rewarded with a blossoming of pink in both of the doctor's cheeks. It was very easy to fluster Ziegler, it seemed. "It was hard to _not_ be impressed."

Dr. Ziegler laughed lowly and shakily, using her fingers to fiddle with the rim of the right sleeve of her lab coat.

"I-I'm sure Gérard exaggerated most of whatever he told you.. but.. _Danke_ ," She flashed a genial smile at the French woman, and Amélie was flooded with a strange sense of triumph. "It is nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Lacroix."

Amélie felt her expression deflate for the second time since the start of this conversation.

Oh no, that _Mrs. Lacroix_ drivel would not do.

Trying to not roll her eyes, as it would probably come off wrongly in the perspective of the doctor, Amélie waved her hand back and forth dismissively.

"Oh, there is no need for that Mrs. Lacroix nonsense. Please, call me Amélie." She requested coyly, and feeling a surge of confidence, she switched out of her casual posture to prop one of her hands on her hip.

Her coquettish tone earned her another blush from the doctor, and Amélie felt her smile stretch. Ziegler was so unbearably adorable when she was flustered. Amélie was glad that she had discovered this.. because she planned on wringing as much amusement out of it as she could.

"As you wish..." Dr. Ziegler replied, the nervousness leaving her expression. Her entire body relaxed, the amiable smile painting her lips growing even sweeter. "..in that case, call me Angela."

_ Oh, so we're on a first name basis now..? _ Amélie purred only in her head, no matter how badly she wanted to say it aloud to the good doctor.

She was just _dying_ to find out what kind of reaction the already flustered blonde woman would give.

Instead, the French woman chuckled faintly, tilting her head to the side and lifting her chin somewhat haughtily. The action caused her to see the mess she had made in the corner of her eye, and Amélie's smirk dropped. There were still pieces of ceramic and coffee all over the floor. She couldn't just leave it like that.

"Ah.. I should probably-" She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the mess. "..clean that up."

Abandoning Angela in the ajar doorway of the lounge, Amélie turned on her heel and stopped at the edge of the puddle. Crouching down, she was in the process of reaching toward the nearest fragment of the broken mug with her bare fingers when someone's hand closed around her wrist.

Amélie froze at the contact, inhaling sharply when Angela was suddenly there by her side. The hand that had stopped her belonged to the doctor, who had joined her crouching on the floor.

The blonde's face was _so_ close to her own, when Amélie turned her head to face the other woman.

"Careful," Angela warned her in a pleasant voice, releasing the hold she had on the French woman's wrist. "You wouldn't want to cut yourself. I'll go get a broom and help you." The blonde woman offered just as brightly, rising to her feet.

Angela left her there, kneeling on the hardwood floor of the lounge, and Amélie watched her go without a word.

_ Oh no. _ Was all she could think with a sinking feeling of dread. _I.. think.. I think I have a crush._


	2. Mercy

After hearing all the praise that her colleague had showered upon his amazing, wonderful, fantastic wife, Angela was starting to suspect that the woman didn't even exist, or that she was maybe some kind of goddess walking among men.

Gérard was so obviously in love with that woman, it was adorable. And understandable, now that Angela had see her with her own two eyes.

Amélie was everything that Gérard had described her to be: beautiful, graceful, and _tall_.

Angela was used to being looked down upon, what with Jack and Gabriel always towering over her, but with Amélie.. it was different. It was intimidating. Well, to be fair, everything about Amélie was striking in some way.

She had that effortless poise of a dancer, every movement she made practically oozing sensuality and confidence. Her amber eyes were so intense, with the sharpness of a feline's, almost predatory. And her smile... Amélie smiled that little smile like she knew something that Angela did not.

Angela was.. intrigued, she realized. Amélie was very interesting, and she had not even known the other woman for 10 whole minutes yet.

She wanted to learn more about this enigmatic French woman, she wanted to speak with her for hours on end, drowning in that alluring accent and discovering what made Amélie Lacroix who she was.

She... she was supposed to be going to fetch a broom.

Angela inhaled sharply, blinking several times where she stood in the middle of the hallway. How long had she been standing here, only a few feet from the lounge's door, lost in her own head?

The doctor lifted her palms and buried her face in them, sighing quietly.

That was right. Amélie had broken a mug in the lounge, _chasing a spider_. Her hands still covering her face, Angela's shoulders shook with a soft chuckle.

What an interesting first meeting. Angela had always thought she'd meet Amélie with Gérard draped all over her, perhaps showing her off to Overwatch with the biggest grin on his face. She would have never imagined that ... _that_ was where their introduction would come from.

When she had been on her way towards the lounge to make herself a desperately needed cup of coffee, Angela had no idea that Amélie was even in Headquarters. She'd heard the crash first, and then a muffled yell. Her French was mediocre at best, but Angela thought that Amélie had shouted _"You're dead!"_.

She must have really been lonely. How long had she been waiting in there?

Lowering her arms back to her sides, Angela forced herself to get moving, and she started down the pristine white hallway.

Gérard was due back from his latest mission any day now, Angela remembered as she walked, a pensive expression on her face. That must have been why Amélie was here.

How dreadful that she had been left all alone in that lounge to wait for him. How could the staff let such an atrocity happen? Was there really no one in Headquarters to spare a little companionship?

Angela approached the door of a maintenance closet, and pulled it open. The doctor grabbed the handle of the nearest broom propped against the inside, and closed it again.

She still had things to get done, papers to file, studying to do, experiments to conduct with her nanotechnology... but Amélie seemed like she really needed company right now. Angela couldn't stand the thought of leaving her to herself again until Gérard returned.

And besides, she _really_ needed that cup of coffee. She'd been awake for 36 hours straight, and the good doctor had no such plans on settling down even before Amélie had come into the picture.

 _I hope I don't look as exhausted as I feel._ She thought to herself, now coming up on the door to the lounge, the broom still in hand.

She felt like garbage, quite honestly, and Angela was struck with a sudden sense of insecurity. The hand that had been reaching for the door handle hesitated.

Amélie was so beautiful, self-assured, and refined... while Angela was the perfect definition of a hot mess with her plain old lab coat and unkempt hair.

Sighing once more, the doctor used her free hand to rub underneath her left eye, trying to wipe the fatigue away.

That hardly mattered now, what _did_ matter was making sure Amélie was not by herself. Unfortunately, Angela was not the best conversationalist, but she _was_ willing to make more of an effort than usual for Amélie's sake.

She secured the doorknob in her hand, and pushed it open with the broom held out in front of her.

Amélie was in the exact spot that Angela had left her, though now she stood with her ankles crossed over the other and her arms wrapped loosely around herself. It was an odd way to stand, but Amélie managed to make it look good using the practiced ease that she carried herself with.

The look on the French woman's face was worrisome; her eyes were a thousand miles away, and a frown created creases on her forehead, but the troubled expression only lasted a second before Amélie glanced Angela's way and it was replaced by a warm smile.

"Angela." Was all she said in greeting, and the doctor felt butterflies in her stomach. She liked it when Amélie said her name. _Was that.. was that weird?_ It was probably weird. What was going on with her today?

Suppressing the intruding fluttery feeling, Angela plastered on the most sincere smile she could manage, and approached the other woman.

"Sorry for the wait," She apologized while offering the broom to Amélie. "Here you are."

" _Merci_." Amélie's expression softened, and she untangled her arms to reach for its handle. In process of taking the broom from her, her fingers brushed Angela's, and the blonde doctor experienced a little jolt that almost made her jump like she'd been electrocuted.

She managed to stop herself from flinching, but the soft gasp that escaped her was an automatic reaction.

Thankfully, Amélie did not take notice, and Angela quickly backed off while the French woman began tending to scattered pieces of ceramic all over the hardwood floor.

 _Mein Gott. What is wrong with me?_ The doctor crossed her arms, her fingernails digging into her biceps.

It.. it was nothing. She was sleep-deprived and out of sorts. That had been nothing.

Shaking her head briefly, Angela blinked once and watched as Amélie gathered the shards of the demolished coffee mug. She wondered whose mug that had been. It was probably hers, she had a thousand of those things laying in odd places all over Headquarters.

But what if it had been _that_ mug?

Squinting, Angela tried to make out any kind of markings on the jagged chunks of ceramic, and she smiled ruefully when she saw fragmented letters on some of them.

It was that mug, the one Lena had given her for her last birthday. On it in big, blocky letters had been the words _"World's Best Mom"_ , but Lena had crossed out _Mom_ with a permanent marker and written out _Doctor_. Angela had really liked that mug, but, oh well.

Of all people who could have broken it, Amélie was the easiest to forgive right now.

Her teeth digging into her lower lip, Angela padded toward the kitchen area, still hugging herself tightly. She stopped in front of the sink, observing over the granite counter top as Amélie made a coffee-stained pile of the broken mug.

Amélie looked.. sad. The realization hit Angela like a speeding train, and she was overcome with the powerful urge to make it better right then and there. It was in her nature to help people, and conquering the anxiety that was building in her chest, Angela broke the silence that fallen between them.

"How long have you been waiting in here, Amélie?" She asked, tilting her head.

Undisturbed by the abrupt attempt at conversation, Amélie huffed, her amber eyes narrowing as they shifted toward the clock on the wall. "Hours. Gérard should be returning today, should he not?"

Angela nodded, raising her fingers to sweep away the blonde bangs that had escaped her hair tie. Ugh, her ponytail was coming undone. She _really_ was a walking disaster right now.

Amélie did not say anything else, her sour expression only worsening as she went back to sweeping.

 _What can I do? She's obviously upset..._ The doctor pondered to herself, absentmindedly tapping her bottom lip with her index finger. The best that Angela could offer was her companionship, but she was not sure how valuable that was.

"W-would you.. like to join me for tea?" Flustered by her own stuttering, Angela was sure that her face was now tinged pink. "To wait.. I mean-" She inhaled sharply, lowering her hand to grip the rim of the counter. "I'll wait with you." The doctor added hastily, puffing out her cheeks in frustration.

 _Gah_ , curse her awkwardness. She was making a complete fool of herself, most likely. Why in the world would Amélie, tasteful, gorgeous Amélie, want to spend her precious time with a socially inept workaholic like Angela?

The other woman kept her eyes to the floor, and Angela was certain that she was going to burst with embarrassment, until Amélie broke into _that_ grin. That clever, sharp grin flooded the doctor with relief, but Amélie's words were even more reassuring.

"I'd love that, Angela."

And that was how Gérard discovered the two of them hours later, chatting, laughing, and enjoying their respective drinks with one another. Earl Grey tea for Amélie, and of course, Angela had her coffee, but it had long since grown cold as she went adrift in conversation with Amélie.

Angela watched as the couple embraced, shared a kiss, and then prepared to leave. She watched as Amélie was led away by her arm by her ecstatic husband, but the French woman ignored Gérard's rambling in favor of glancing over her shoulder back at the doctor. Amélie gave her a lazy wave with her free hand, and she _smiled_.

Angela was paralyzed, her knuckles most likely white due to how tightly she was holding the granite edge of the counter, and she just watched as Amélie and Gérard disappeared through the lounge door.

 _I have a crush on my colleague's wife._ Angela hooked her fingers through the handle of her cup, and took a long, contemplative sip of her coffee. _Damn._


End file.
